


Two Way Street

by Tamuril2



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6176311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamuril2/pseuds/Tamuril2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solo's been the CIA's lapdog for years now, thank you very much, and they aren't going to take UNCLE's 'borrowing' of him lying down. No sir, they aren't. Which is why they've sent someone over to...check...on things, shall we say. Too bad, Waverly really does think of Solo as his, and then there are the new partners to consider too. Yep, the CIA are doomed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Way Street

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Love in a Time of Ubiquitous Surveillance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4877638) by [NienteZero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NienteZero/pseuds/NienteZero). 
  * Inspired by [The Vinegar and Honey Affair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842278) by [bemusedlybespectacled (ardentintoxication)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentintoxication/pseuds/bemusedlybespectacled). 



~~~~

Trust is a two way street that not many ever try.

~~~~

Solo stepped into Waverly’s office of the day (the British man changed it often, so no one could predict just where he’d be, in case of an attack) and almost faltered when he saw the CIA agent sitting in front of Waverly’s desk. Oh, Solo knew the man was CIA. The standard briefcase (auburn with gold latches), the grey suit/pants combo (cheap with fraying thread on the belt), and the plain shoes (black leather with double woven laces) gave it away. For such a secret organization, with a stupendously large budget, the CIA loved to dress their people in remarkably boring clothes that all looked the same. How they never got spotted on a mission befuddled Solo’s mind, and was one of the reasons why he always insisted on buying and putting together his own outfits/disguises.

 _Besides, no one could duplicate this much perfection._  He tugged his suitcoat down a bit and glanced over at his two teammates. Both wore their poker faces; Gaby the bright, innocent, little beauty with Illya as the dour Russian who glared at everyone he came across. Solo had seen the play often enough to catch it. Plus, they’d all been laughing not five seconds ago.  Now his teammates looked ready for combat.

 _Focus on the present,_ Solo chided himself, and changed his attention back on the CIA agent.

The uncontrolled curly, red hair was in direct contrast to the crisp business suit and sour expression on the agent wore. Solo got a vague impression he might have seen this particular agent before in passing, but disregarded it as unimportant. What did strike him as important was the fact that Waverly had even allowed the CIA this far. Illya’s former KGB handler hadn’t even made it past the border, let alone anywhere near Waverly’s desk.

 _Maybe it’s because he’s American?_ But nationalism didn’t fit the image Solo had of Waverly.

Maybe that was the idea. Get them to think their new boss ran things one way and then rip the rug right out from under them. God only knew how much the CIA had loved to do that to Solo over the years; it seemed to become some sort of sadistic competition between the handlers as to who could wrong foot Solo the most, with bonus points for how close to death he was at the end of the mission. Missions where he was told he’d be point, but then shown just how low on the totem pole he really was. Debriefings where he never got a word in before they reamed him out for not bowing low enough and kissing their feet. After all, prison was just a phone call away.

He chastised himself for falling for the ploy yet again. _When are you going to learn?_

Waverly motioned them over. “Ah, good, we’re all here.”

They moved toward the spare chairs, though Illya opted to lean against the wall by the CIA agent, fold his arms across his chest, and hurl covert glares at the man’s head with his eyes. It calmed Solo down just a bit, to see the Russian so protective, so unimpressed with this smug agent. It made Solo realize just how little this should have surprised him. How he should’ve seen it coming from a long ways away.

_You’re getting lax, Solo, my boy._

UNCLE was a new born baby in the world of espionage. No one knew anything about it. All records of its existence conveniently disappeared before they could ever see the light of day. No paper, no computer chips, nothing. Not only that, but UNCLE took only the best of the best, meaning they borrowed their talents from other agencies. Borrowed with no intention of ever giving back; that little fact was discovered a few months in, when Illya’s handler asked for him and was politely declined (there may have also been a thinly veiled threat to accompany said civil refusal). So, it really shouldn’t have caught Solo so unawares that the CIA sent someone over to check up on their own missing agent, and to make sure they could whistle their pet dog back in whenever they needed him.  

 _News travels fast in the espionage world._ Solo smothered a grin that begged to be shown. He couldn’t disappoint Waverly now. The man had gone out of his way to recruit him: the least he could do in return was show the man how seriously he took this job. How he deserved to be kept out of prison and on active duty.

“We’ve agreed to co-opt on an assignment with the CIA,” Waverly said without further ado, the penknife flashing in the light as he moved it. “We will, of course, take point on this enterprise. Will we not, Agent McKiernan?”

The man’s curls bobbed as he gave a curt nod. “Certainly, sir. The CIA wants only to further cooperation with UNCLE.”

Translation: You’re getting too good and that worries us enough to send one of our most trusted agents over to check up on you. Perhaps indefinitely.

Waverly gave a thin smile in return. “Smashing.”

“What’s our mission, sir?” Gaby asked, blinking her long lashes and sitting just so to promote her figure. Smart girl, that one. She knew the real message floating about. You want to see our guns? Well, here’s our best. Try not to faint.

“There’s a prominent, shall we say, ‘business man’ in Japan who is rumored to possess some rather unfortunate files. He is known among his associates as Mr. Hashimodo.”

“Unfortunate?” Gaby prompted on cue. Let it not be said that Waverly hadn’t trained her well.

“Names, my dear, of some deep cover agents all over the world. A few bits from every agency known to man, and some unknown.” Waverly said, clasping his hands together on his desk. “Rumors also say he plans to share these files with some unsavory characters. Needless to say, we don’t want this to happen.”

“Which is where we come in, no?” Illya put in from his corner.

“Indeed,” Waverly admitted and pushed four, manila folders towards them. Gaby and Solo picked up theirs, as did Agent McKiernan. Illya elected for continuing to glower from his corner. Waverly went on, nonetheless. “In a nutshell, you will infiltrate his business, obtain the files, and leave. The CIA will be our backup on this, as they’ve a man already on the inside.”

 _Wonderful, there’ll be two of them breathing down our necks._ Solo grabbed a document and leafed through it.

Several faces plastered the first few pages. An American, two Russians, a colored man, and a British woman. The colored man, Solo noted, was their informant. Interesting. This, he peeked at the top of the page, Mr. Hashimodo didn’t have any issues with black people. They could use that to their advantage. Maybe stage Illya as outcast and himself as a bigot. Gaby would be their foil. His girlfriend or wife, perhaps, though he wished they could find a better role for her. Something more exciting. Maybe switch Illya and her roles? He’d discuss it with them once they left the room.

“Will that be all, sir?” he asked, straightening the papers and closing the folder. Agent McKiernan shot him a dark look (why Solo would never know, he’d only said five words), but Waverly just gestured to the door.

“Of course. Distribute the roles as you see fit, Agent Solo.”

Huh. A public display of UNCLE’s ownership of him. Agent McKiernan didn’t seem to be liking that very much, if his gritted teeth and stiff back was any clue. Poor showmanship and control of emotions, all wrapped into one. This could prove troublesome down the line, but Waverly had to know what he was doing, so Solo left him to it.

In one fluid move, Solo stood and headed for the door, confident his teammates would be right behind him. He didn’t glance back, nor did he slow his steps until the door closed behind them. Only then did he turn around. Gaby and Illya were not far behind him, both wearing identical looks of worry. Whether the mission itself caused this concern or the CIA agent, Solo couldn’t tell.

He pasted on his trademark smirk and stuffed one hand into his pants pocket. “Well, this’ll be fun. UNCLE showing the CIA the ropes, promoting the partnership of the year. The KGB will be most disappointed they weren’t invited to this little tea party.”

“This is not laughing matter, Solo,” Illya snapped, his finger tapping against his arm.

Oh brilliant, he’d managed to upset Illya again. Thank goodness there weren’t any tables around for him to overturn. Or maybe it would’ve been better if there were: it’d give the Russian something to vent his anger on. Solo preferred that to, let’s say, his face or Gaby’s feelings. Hang it all, he’d only meant it as a joke, something to lighten the air, not to make his teammate tenser.

Gaby sighed. “Look, this is going to be hard anyway, so let’s not fight between ourselves. Illya, I’m sure Solo didn’t mean anything.”

She shot him a meaningful look and Solo nodded. “Just joking, Peril.”

Illya glared on, still tapping.

Gaby continued, regardless. “And Solo, let’s keep the smarm on the backburner.”

Solo hid his wince. All right, so he used his charms a lot. It came in useful when the marks were a specific type of women…or stuffy business men who looked down on women…or pretty much anyone, to be honest. However, he also knew Gaby didn’t appreciate it at all, so he’d tried to cut his flirting out when he could. Evidently, he hadn’t been that successful. Curse it all. There went his plan of showing his new teammates how useful he could be to them, and to UNCLE.

 _Move on, Solo. Move on._ He upped the wattage of his smile. “Of course, wouldn’t want to outshine Agent McKiernan.”

Something dimmed behind Gaby’s eyes. Disappointment? Doubt? Either way, it hurt that he’d been the one to cause it; hurt like a broken rib, stabbing and relentless. Illya didn’t seem too happy with him, either.

 _Move on,_ Solo repeated. _Just move on._

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

“Well,” Illya heard Solo whistle. “They don’t make seats like this in the CIA, now do they, Agent McKiernan?”

Illya stifled a growl. The American seemed to be in full color today. Was that the right term? Full color? Illya didn’t think so. But then, he thought as they each stowed away their belongings in the overhead compartments, the English language had so many odd phrases. In any case, Solo seemed to be escalating his actions. Smirking everywhere he looked and dropping barely hidden insults on their CIA contact like mini irritation bombs. The car was bigger, gadgets faster, and so on.

This would not be a fun mission, perhaps not even a well-executed one, if things kept up like this. Illya glanced at Gaby, hoping she might have the words to stop him, but she only appeared as lost as he did. Her big eyes pleaded with him to do something, anything. Illya ground his teeth and gripped the arm rest of his chair.

_Wonderful. I must be bad guy again._

The plane took off.

“Almost like you were on land, eh?” Solo said to Agent McKiernan.

_Why does Cowboy not see reason?_

All this mockery did was show that UNCLE employed children. That Waverly had as little control over Solo as the CIA did. Illya took a deep breath. Took another. And stood, grabbing Solo by the arm and ripping him out of his seat. “Come.”

Solo spluttered as Illya dragged him down the aisle and into the back room. Once there, Illya let him go and shut the door. Solo’s eyes burned with embarrassment, his arms taut by his sides. Illya waited for the childish explosion. Solo did not disappoint.

“What’s the big idea, Peril?” Solo hissed through clenched teeth. “You made me look like an idiot out there.”

“No.” Illya folded his arms. “You did that all by yourself, Cowboy.”

Solo’s eyes narrowed. “Care to rephrase that?”

“No. You have been acting like fool. Running mouth and mocking Agent McKiernan.”

“He’s practically asking for it!”

“It is no difference. We are UNCLE now, we must show best.” Illya took a step forward. “Your best, Cowboy. Leave joking aside.”

Solo pouted and shoved his hand into his pockets. “You’re taking the fun out of everything, Peril. Honestly, I wasn’t that bad. I just poked a few of his buttons. He’d be shocked if someone didn’t.”

“It is stupid idea,” Illya insisted, wishing his English were better so he could truly reprimand his partner. “Waverly is trusting us. Focus on mission and forget petty rivalry.”

Solo’s face went a perfect blank. “Right. Can we leave now? Gaby will be worrying you’ve killed me by now.”

Illya didn’t know if he’d gotten through to the man, but when Solo got like this talk meant nothing. Better to yell at a wall. Illya opened the door. “After you, Cowboy.”

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

Gaby couldn’t believe she’d heard Agent McKiernan right. “I’m sorry?”

“What?” Agent McKiernan blinked at them all. “It’s a solid plan. And it fits right in with Mr. Hashimodo’s code of honor.”

Silence.

 _What does he mean by that?_ Gaby fumed. _It’s a terrible plan._

“Solo, tell them,” Agent McKiernan demanded, turning halfway round to stare at the taller American. “Hashimodo hates thieves. Telling him one is right here in town, one that stole his precious Jade Cherries picture and knows its location, would only sweeten the deal. He won’t be able to resist.”

Solo slouched in his seat by the window. “I don’t suppose it changes things if I didn’t steal it or happen to know its current location?”

“No…” Agent McKiernan seemed genuinely surprised at the resigned question. And that made Gaby all the angrier. How dare this…this…interloper suggest they use Solo like this. Place him in such a dangerous position when they all knew what Hashimodo did to his enemies. They would stick to plan A, where Gaby was the poor immigrant and Solo was the bigot. Certainly, that too assured a few bruises too, but nothing near as bad as what Agent McKiernan’s idea would do.

Gaby saw Illya take a dangerous step forward out of the corner of her eye and hurried to rectify the situation. Only for Solo to go and blow the entire thing.

“I suppose I should leave my jacket here then.” Solo said, standing up and heading for his bedroom. “Wouldn’t want to get any blood on it.”

Gaby flashed Illya a covert hand sign. _Stay here and guard,_ her fingers signaled. Illya gave a brief nod in return and she flew after Solo, barely making it in before he closed the sliding doors. She rounded on the suave American, not bothering to hide the anger she felt. 

“What’s wrong with you?” she whispered, mindful of how thin the doors were here in Japan. “This is a terrible plan!”

“No, it’s actually a pretty good one.” Solo quirked an eyebrow. “Worried I’ll crack under pressure?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why the outrage? It’ll work out better than our plan and ensure that you get close to Hashimodo.”

Gaby took a mental step back and reassessed the situation. Solo had been acting oddly ever since Agent McKiernan first arrived at UNCLE. At first, Illya had thought it because they knew each other and had bad history, but Gaby didn’t think so. This felt personal, but not in that kind of way. More of the kicked puppy finally biting back way. Gaby froze.

 _Is that it?_ It fit the characterizations Solo had been portraying all week. Symptoms of self-consciousness and worry. Hints of trying to prove his worth to UNCLE. Gaby couldn’t decide if she wanted to smack Solo or hug him. The idiot. Did he really think so little of them? So what if the CIA had used him like that? When had UNCLE….when had _Illya or she_ ever shown such dispositions?

“You really are an idiot,” she said at last.

Solo tilted his head. “Okay. Not the comeback I was expecting, but we’ll roll with it.”

“We’re not going with this plan. The first one will work just as well.” She straightened her shoulders, daring him to counteract her logic.

He studied her a while and then cracked a soft smile. “All right.”

She whirled around on her heel. “Good. Let’s break the news to Agent McKiernan, shall we?”

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

The small bar stood at the corner of two streets, wedged snuggly between a tall, glass building and an older house with colorful, gypsy curtains. The inside smelled of smoke and grilled fish. Not exactly what Solo had expected a bar to smell like, but then, he reminded himself, this wasn’t New York, was it? No, here the rules ran a different course and he’d do well to remember that. Straightening his back, Solo took stock of the heads sitting and standing around.

Mr. Hashimodo sat with his four, visible guards (he marked them as visible, because Solo didn’t doubt a man like Hashimodo had hidden guards dotted around as well). The back table gave the Japanese man the best view of the comings and goes of the establishment, which couldn’t be an accident. Solo had done the same thing numerous times when on a job. Besides Hashimodo’s group, there stood two men (one with a kimono thingy (who wore those still?) and the other with a white business suit). They sipped their wine at the bar table and conversed in low tones with each other. Gaby sat between them and Mr. Hashimodo, perfectly positioned for everyone in the bar to overhear their soon to be confrontation.  

 _Game on._ Solo strode over and slide into the empty seat next to her. “Fancy seeing a flower like you here, Miss…?”

She glanced over, a guileless look of curiosity crossing her face, and smiled. “Gaby.”

He let the grin on his face fall into a scowl at her accent. Her lips faltered and finally dropped into a confused frown.

“Is something the matter, sir?” she asked.

Solo noted that the bartender glanced their way. “You’re German.”

“Yes…”

“Germans took a lot during the war.” He said it in such a way that only an idiot would miss his insinuation. And Gaby wasn’t playing at being an idiot.

She looked back at her wine. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“But your people did.”

“That had nothing to do with me.” Gaby’s tone took on a slight pleading, not enough to be asking for help, but enough that it suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d been down this road.

The bartender shot Mr. Hashimodo a look, and Solo upped his game.

“I say it does.” He leaned in closer. “I lost a few good friends to your Hitler.”

Gaby clasped her wine glass with both hands, her knuckles whiter than polished bone. “The war is over and Hitler is dead.”

“And yet you people still get to walk around as if you did nothing wrong.”

“I did do nothing wrong!” Gaby shouted, and then pretended to notice she’d raised her voice, blanched, and hunched inward. “I wasn’t anywhere near the war.”

Solo snorted. “I very much doubt that. The war was everywhere. Couldn’t miss it.”

“My family fled.”

“Like cowards, no doubt.” He was laying it on thick. They didn’t want Hashimodo’s man, behind them and to the left, to become suspicious. So, Solo backtracked a little. “Sure they might’ve had their reasons…”

Gaby blinked at the change in script, but when along with it like the pro she was. “They…had difficulties with Hitler’s actions.”

“Bet they helped the allies a great deal,” Solo said, leaning against the bar.

“I’m sorry?”

“All that information on Hitler, it must’ve aided our troops a lot.”

Gaby paled.

“They…,” she swallowed, “…They didn’t go to the allies.”

Solo made his expression go dark. “Went to a neutral place, did they?”

“Yes,” Gaby whispered, as if she knew she’d lost this round.

“I guess I retracted my words too soon.” Solo narrowed his eyes. “Your family were cowards.”

“They had nowhere else to go!” Gaby was shouting again. “No one would take Germans!”

“With good reason too!” Solo snapped back, hoping this wasn’t pushing the boat too far. “The deaths of those men are on your hands, missy. Neutrality doesn’t absolve you. Silence speaks loud. And your family’s silence was pretty loud, I’d say.”

Solo moved closer and Gaby shot off her seat, eyes wide. That’s when one of Hashimodo’s guards appeared at her elbow, expression tight. Solo breathed a silent sigh of relief. Anymore and it’d be very obvious he was trying to be the bad guy here. The guard gave Solo a dark look of his own, then proceeded to ignore him. Instead, he placed a gentle hand on Gaby’s arm.

 “Mr. Hashimodo extends his apologies for this man’s cruel words – ”

“Do you even know what she is?” Solo interrupted.

“And asks that you join him at his table,” the man continued, as if Solo hadn’t said a word.

Gaby blinked wet lashes up at him. “H-he does?”

 “Indeed. He regrets that such actions have occurred in his establishment.”

“Listen, my good fellow,” Solo put in, feeling his character would probably not give up so easily. No bigot ever did. “Perhaps you don’t know what her father – ”

The man slugged him in the guts and Solo went down wheezing. “Mr. Hashimodo also does not approve of thieves, Mr. Bishop.”

 _What?_ Solo’s mind went into overdrive. This wasn’t part of the setup….Oh…Oh…And it hit Solo like a thunderclap. Agent McKiernan had gone right alone with his plan; he just hadn’t told them. Figures. Well, this was looking to be the start of a brilliant inter-relationship with the CIA. Solo steadied himself on the floor with a shaking hand and gagged for breath.

“Th-thief?” he heard Gaby stutter.

“Yes. One who has recently taken something very precious of my master’s. But that is of no consequence. He will not be bothering you again.” A bit of shuffling and Gaby’s white shoes walked away while five pairs of polished, black ones replaced them.

Rough hands grabbed his arms and yanked him up. A few patrons threw him scared looks, but no one dared to help him. Solo hadn’t thought they would. He caught sight of Illya just outside the bar. The Russian’s face had paled, though his whole body was taut to attack. Solo shook his head. It wasn’t their plan, but better to go with it and accomplish the mission than risk failure.

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

Illya all but flew at the CIA agent when the man came through the doors, his large hands encircling the thin throat and tightening. Agent McKiernan made a very satisfy gurgle and his blue eyes widened in fright. Good. He should be frightened. Illya did not take betrayal well.

The American choked, mouth working like a fish to get words out. Illya loosened his grip, enough so that the tiny man could get his pleas in before Illya snapped his neck, but only because it would make the action of ending his life all the sweeter.

“What’re you doing?” the man wheezed, hands scrabbling at those around his throat.

Illya’s English almost failed him, so hot was his fury. “Was bad plan.”

“No, it was a good one. You’re all just too close to see it.”

Illya closed his hands tighter, and the man squeaked.

“Wait, wait! Hashimodo expects me in an hour. Gaby and I are in. If I don’t show, it’ll be suspicious.”

Smart man, making himself so indispensable. Most likely, he’d known the reaction his treachery would garner and had sought to get himself into the best position of safety, that of being necessary to the success of this mission. Smart. Didn’t mean Illya wouldn’t kill him later.

“Solo had better live, паразиты,” Illya warned. He deemed the man clever enough to know what would happen if Solo did not live.

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

Agent McKiernan’s plan went off without a hitch, though right now Solo sort of wished it hadn’t. Not that he didn’t want them to succeed, but Hashimodo was definitely one of the worst sadist he’d met in a long while. Just his luck, he’d found two of them in the space of a few months. First, Uncle Rudi, now Hashimodo. This Japanese man just loved his swords, and knives, and anything really pointy, truth be told. Oh, and using said pointy things on his captives. Lovely.

Solo heaved in a strangled breath and sent Hashimodo the best glare he could muster. “Not bad. You’re…(gasp)…almost on par…(wheeze)…with my mother.”

There. Let it not be said that Napoleon Solo didn’t know how to play with the big boys.

His reward, though…Solo gagged as yet another knife cut made its home on his arm. Death by a thousand cuts. Solo had heard of the practice before, and had thought it barbaric. The actual thing was something more of a nightmare. How stealing a picture warranted this type of punishment, Solo would never know.

Hashimodo’s head slid into view. “You are a man of great stupidity, Mr. Bishop. Surely, a piece of painting is not worth all this pain.”

“You’d…be…surprised…” Solo gasped out.

Another cut.

Solo closed his eyes, but someone smashed a fist into his rib cage with the words “Eyes open, gijin.”

Solo complied with the harsh order. Hashimodo still stood over him, a look of disgust written across his wrinkled face. The dark eyes narrowed and moved away. Solo turned his head and followed the man with his eyes, anger rising at the sight of Agent McKiernan standing the corner of the room. When Solo got out of here, he’s enjoy making that man…shall we say, disappear. For five days, the red haired man had done nothing to thwart Hashimodo’s torture, just stood there with that blank look on his face.

Solo hoped he got ulcers. Cancer. The bubonic plague.

“We shall leave you to think over your mistakes, Mr. Bishop.” Hashimodo said.

 _That’s new._ A change in script could either be a good thing or really, really bad. Solo prepped himself for the latter, just in case.

“Perhaps, given enough time, you will see the error of your silence.”

And then they left. No other threats. No guards. Just left and closed the door. Solo let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. _Okay, think, Solo. You’ve got time now. Use it._

But his wrists and arms were still tied to the ceiling with ropes and, ironically, chains. One shoulder still burned from being wrenched out of its socket and not put back in, though the whole limb was rapidly going numb. So…not much he _could_ do, except wait for them to come back and start up again.

 _Fantastic._ Solo craned his head up and glared at the bindings. _Don’t suppose you’ll let up a bit? I could really do with leaving right about now._  

Surely Gabby or Illya or even Agent McKiernan had gotten the files by now. Five days was more than enough time, wasn’t it? Solo had personally seen Illya get into buildings and out in less than two hours. Then why had they not been to get him? Why leave him like this for five days?

 _Come on, old boy, this is just the pain talking._ But was it? Maybe UNCLE had had a nice chat with the CIA and decided a former thief didn’t fit into their organization. Maybe they’d given him back and this was all just a reminder from the CIA about not testing them. Solo sagged. _Can’t be. Illya would have said something. Gaby would’ve!_

Unless they’d been ordered not to, or shipped out before they could.

The door opened a crack and Solo stiffened in preparation. And then the brown, flat cap of Illya’s peeked its brim inside. Solo could’ve laughed when Illya himself snuck through, the big man barely fit through the tiny door. He scanned Solo from head to toe and tilted his head to the side. “Doing okay, Cowboy?”

Solo did laugh now, only to choke halfway through. Once he got his breath back he found Illya at his side. He sent the taller man a grin. “Took….you…long enough…Peril…”

“Yes, well, there was some miscommunication on part of CIA.” Illya reached up and yanked the ropes and chains out of the ceiling, literally. “Waverly has expressed his displeasure.”

“I can…imagine…” Solo said, wheezing around his cracked ribs as he stood on his own two feet. He wavered a bit, but righted himself before Illya had to help. “Mission?”

“A success,” Illya said as he undid the ropes and peeled off the chains around Solo’s wrists. “Waverly has files.”

Good. Next pressing concern. “Guards?”

“Not a problem.”

“Ah….you smacked them…did you?”

Illya scowled, but it was his nice scowl. “It is not smack.”

“Whatever….you say…Peril…” Solo wheezed as they walked through a hallway filled with standing men, sleeping with their necks to the side. Classic. Solo wished he had a camera.

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

Suffice to say, Waverly retracted his offer to the CIA. Agent McKiernan was shipped out immediately, both eyes black (curtesy of Gaby and Illya) and his neck in a brace (Illya). Solo only had a brief moment to appreciate it before Waverly unleashed the medics on him. In short order, they’d dressed Solo in scrubs, washed and disinfected his cuts, and stuck an IV into his arm, with strict orders for him to rest or else. Solo hated recovery.

So boring.

Maybe Gaby and Illya knew that, as they’d refused to leave his side. Illya insisted upon playing multiple games of chess. Not that Solo minded. The Russian was an interesting player, using moves Solo had never seen before.

“Check,” Illya stated.

Solo groaned. “I swear you made an extra move when Gaby walked in.”

Illya studied him for a second, probably deciding whether or not his honor really had been called into doubt, and then smirked. “Do not blame Gaby for your poor skills, Cowboy.”

“Hey! I beat you twice.”

“Indeed.” The smirk grew. “It is most impressive. I might have to start playing soon.”

“Hilarious, Peril.” Solo moved his queen to protect.

Which was when Waverly decided to show up in his tweed jacket. Gaby and Illya gave each other a look and left without a word, though Gaby threw him an encouraging smile. Solo did not get anxious. He did not! He…just…put aside his usual charms and made sure to show Waverly his best behavior. The mission had been a success. There was no reason for Waverly to be annoyed at him.

“Sir.”

“Agent Solo.”

 _Well, that was informative._ “Were the files retrieved in time, sir?”

After all, Hashimodo could’ve sent a few tidbits to sweeten his offer, before the CIA and UNCLE had recovered them.

“Ah yes. All agents are accounted for and in good spirits.” Waverly gave Solo a once over. “Which is more than I can say for you, Mr. Solo.”

“Sir – ”

Waverly put up a hand and Solo stopped his protests. What the boss wanted, the boss got, and Solo couldn’t afford to mess this up. Waverly’s eyes clouded. “A most unfortunate turn of events with Agent McKiernan.”

Solo couldn’t come up with a response for that. Yes? It wasn’t any different than what the CIA had done before. No? Then maybe Waverly would say how he liked the setup and wanted to use it again. Actually, he might say that regardless of either answer.

He settled for the generic: “Sir.”

Waverly gave him a sad sort of smile. The kind that said ‘I know what that meant’ and ‘I know what they did’. Solo hated it on sight. He didn’t need pity. He’d gotten himself into this mess, and he’d survived whatever the CIA had thrown at him. He’d survive UNCLE too.

“For the next mission,” Waverly started, “Illya and Gaby will be going over to America.”

 _Here it comes…_ Solo straightened as much as he could on the hospital bed. “And my role, sir?”

Waverly stared at him. “Why to recuperate, of course. Surely you didn’t think we’d send you out in such conditions?”

 _Yes?_ was just on the tip of Solo’s tongue, but he didn’t let it out. Not that it mattered. Waverly seemed to be telepathic and know anyway.

“Ah. I see. You did. Well, let me disillusion you, Mr. Solo. We, at UNCLE, do not make a habit of abusing our agents, or, in fact, blackmailing them. Your only mission,” Waverly smirked, probably at the double meaning, “is to get better.”

“But Gaby and Illya will need backup, sir!”

“Yes, they did say you would point that out. Never fear, we’ve put one of our best over there to watch them. A certain, rising star; goes by the name, Bond. MI6 was most annoyed when we ‘borrowed’ him. There should be no mix-ups like in Japan.”

Like with you, was left unsaid.

A tiny bit of something loosened in Solo’s chest. He’d heard of this Bond. Cocky and a bit showy, but an all-around good agent. Gaby and Illya would be in safe hands with him. “Good to know, sir.”

Not the best outcome, Solo would have much preferred to watch over his partners himself, but Bond had a pretty decent track record, when it came to people…gadgets were just doomed. Solo promised himself that he would have a chat with Bond before Gaby and Illya left. Speaking of which…Solo turned to Waverly. “When do they leave, sir?”

“Tonight, I’m afraid, though they insisted on saying their goodbyes to you as soon as I leave.”

Yet another thing his CIA ‘partners’ had never done.

“Yes, sir.”

“Right. I’ll leave you to it then. Do try and get better, Mr. Solo. UNCLE needs men like you whole and well.”

For missions, but also, Solo read, for his own sake. Interesting.

Waverly left and Solo’s partners waltzed back in. Solo sent them mock glares each. “You knew this morning, didn’t you? That’s why Gaby was reading that American car magazine and you wanted that extra chess game.”

“It is good practice,” Illya insisted.

Gaby just smiled. “Have to keep up my mechanic skills somehow.”

“Bond’s good,” Solo told them. **_He’ll keep you safe,_** is what he meant.

“I heard he knows some good bars and hotels,” Gaby said. **_We’ll be back._**

“Of course, Waverly would not send anything but best,” Illya said. **_Get better._**

“Well, then, I’ll just have to brush up on my chess moves and car pieces while you’re gone, won’t I?” Solo continued. “Wouldn’t want Bond to replace me.”

Okay, that came out needier than he’d expected. Brilliant. Now they’d think him melodramatic. He watched as Gaby’s shoulders slumped and Illya’s fingers started tapping, and hurried to say something. Anything, to fix this. They couldn’t leave on this note.

“I…”

“You’re still an idiot,” Gaby said without preamble.

“It is truth,” Illya agreed.

Solo winced. “Perhaps.”

“So is CIA,” Illya added, his tapping getting faster.

“Well,” Solo licked his lips, mindful of the tapping, “they can’t all be UNCLE, now can they?”

There, they should understand that.

If Gaby’s beam and Illya’s still fingers were anything to go by, they did. Good. Solo hadn’t had partners like them in a long, long time, and he wasn’t about to let them go anytime soon. Illya still had to teach him that neat chess move, after all, and Gaby insisted she’d make a mechanic out of him yet.

Yes, Solo mused as he lay back in his bed and watched Illya settle into his next chess move, this felt right. Gaby plopped into her chair and riffled through the car magazine some more. A smile played at the corners of Solo’s lips.

In fact, this felt perfect.


End file.
